


One Night In Centerville

by Jessa



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, finnlo - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - The Dead Don't Die, Gore, M/M, MCD (Armitage Hux), Moderate language, Officer!Hux, Officer!Solo, Sexual References, Vampire!Finn, finnlo, first blood, kylo ren and ben solo are personas of the same person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:07:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21515011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessa/pseuds/Jessa
Summary: A Kylodemption story.
Relationships: Ben Solo | Kylo Ren & Armitage Hux, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren & Armitage Hux & Finn, Finn/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14
Collections: Finnlo-Focused Multiship Anthology 2019





	One Night In Centerville

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeadlyToxins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadlyToxins/gifts), [Skiplowave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skiplowave/gifts).



> I would like to thank everyone in the FFMA Workshop server on Discord for brainstorming ideas for this story with me. Also the Multishippers as always have just been so incredibly good to support our whole project and without them this story would not have been possible.
> 
> I am very appreciative of advice that DeadlyToxins provided in regards to a description in one scene in this story which helped me clarify the imagery - thank you - and this story is specifically dedicated to people with whom I have enjoyed sharing my thirst for Murderous!Finn/John and Vampire!Finn this year; your ideas have shaped this story, thank you for sharing them with me.
> 
> And this story is also for you, if you enjoy a bit of bloodletting sometimes; I know that *you* are also still so good, deep down inside your beating heart ;) and I really do hope that you enjoy this read because I sure as fuck enjoyed writing it <3

Officer Ben Solo considers himself a good guy. He’s a measured cop. Or that’s what he tells himself every day when he wakes up with dark urges. 

But everybody wakes up with those, right? Not just hungry for stuff. With thirsts for things they’d never ever want in real life because wanting those things in real life might make those people unmeasured, and also because everybody including Ben is a decent person deep down inside their beating heart, and decent people want to stay that way. Or Ben sure thinks he does. 

All people crave bad things, like vengeance. That’s just a part of being human. Everybody dreams of killing everybody else still overpopulating the sidewalks of this indecent and wasteful excuse for a materialistic Midwestern town. And that kind of thinking is completely normal and understandable for measured guys like Ben because it’s sure as fuck not easy staying good. It’s really not.

* * *

Ben adjusts his glasses and his shiny pleather cop shoes scuff a little rough across the floor of the squad room as he wallops like an overeager puppy from the break room at the back of the station to the interview room towards the front. Past stippled stucco walls panelled along their central thirds with old-growth timber and beneath incandescent lights that blaze. Until Ben reaches Officer Hux, who’s waiting for him in his own shiny cop shoes. Real leather cop shoes. 

Ben likes most people outwardly but they don’t include Officer Hux. He’s rarely fun and tonight’s no exception; his expression is as stern as the door of the interview room behind him, and he’s just standing there in front of that door looking perturbed. And holding out a clipboard impatiently towards Ben’s puffed-up and proudly uniformed chest. Proud because Ben likes his job. He likes to be a good cop. After all, Ben’s still a good guy.

“Good luck.”

Officer Hux says nothing else to Ben, just turns on his heel and walks back across the floor of the squad room. The soles of his leather cop shoes squeak against the epoxy finish of the floor as he goes, and it’s only a light sound they make but it’s just enough to get on Ben’s nerves, since people really shouldn’t wear real leather. It’s not a very ethical choice. Ben’s eye begins to twitch as a little irk in him returns about that, and after a short while somehow that little irk becomes a doubt. A self-doubt.

Should he actually read Hux’s clipboard notes this time in advance of the interview? He doesn’t usually do that, since his colleague is fairly thorough but he isn’t always measured. He tends to form prejudgements, and Ben knows that. After all, that’s why Officer Hux sometimes likes to be a bad cop. A bad person. He’s a little fanatical. And certainly not always good.

“But _you_ are,” Ben murmurs to himself, adjusting his glasses again and still fighting the urge to look down at the notes on the clipboard; eventually forcing the thought of his partner’s less than ethical choices from his mind. “So you give them a chance, Officer Solo, whoever’s in there. You’re a _good_ guy. Remember that. _Measured_.”

Ben opens the door and enters the interview room. To the right, on a plain wooden chair sits a man who might be only a handful of years younger than Ben. His knees are crossed politely. His slacks are as blue as cornflowers. He wears a very clean, long-sleeved white shirt with a high crisp collar that draws attention to his hair, styled smartly in twists serpentining the crown of his head. 

The man smiles and Ben finds that his open face is very pleasant to look at. So pleasant in fact that Ben is immediately very glad he didn’t read Officer Hux’s notes on the clipboard while he was still outside, fighting the urge to do so. But Ben does look down at them now. Searches through the impeccable print. For the very pleasant-looking man’s name. 

“Finn?”

“Good evening, Officer.”

“No family name is written here for you,” Ben says in a puzzled voice, adjusting his glasses again.

“I was taken from my family, Officer. I have no family name. Now, before you go any further I’d like to make a confession, if that’s alright with you?”

Ben looks up in surprise. His glasses slip just a little down his nose. The very pleasant-looking man who gave the name of _Finn_ is forthcoming. Chatty. And Ben is still thinking about how Hux wasn’t at all in a mood to chat when he left Ben alone outside the interview room a few minutes ago. A time when Ben usually likes to banter, even if only briefly. Because Ben doesn’t always feel like conversing outside of interviews, but he really did then. And right now, Ben still really does.

“Well sure, sir,” Ben says. “You go right along ahead and confess something to me if you want to. I’m all ears.”

“Why, thank you so much, Officer.”

Finn smiles again. Ben’s glasses further slip down his nose. They are another reason why, whenever Ben can, he avoids looking down at notes on clipboards. Ben’s glasses are a little too big. Close, but not quite the right fit. So with his free hand he pushes them up to the bridge of his nose and holds them in place with the tip of his long forefinger, and listens.

“What I’d like to confess to you, Officer, is that I’ve started to suppose that you all in here must think I’m some kind of demon.”

“Oh, no,” Ben replies, giving his head a very sure shake, the tip of his long forefinger still pressing his glasses firm to the bridge of his nose. “I mean, maybe others do but I never ever judge before I-“

“And especially you, Officer, must think that’s why I’m sitting here before you.”

Finn nods once at the clipboard in Ben’s other hand.

“So if you do choose to proceed with your cross-questioning of me,” Finn petitions, “Well, I hope that if you are half the officer of the law that you appear to be then you might grant me just enough sympathy tonight to hear for yourself what I have to say about some of the information you’re basing that cross-questioning on. Before you judge me. Because if I may say so, your very rude partner has not recorded all of my statements quite correctly on that clipboard.”

“Well, I… I haven’t actually read all his notes yet, sir.”

“Oh?”

“Just your name so far is all.”

“Oh.”

Finn gives Ben another smile.

“Officer,” Finn murmurs. “I knew it.”

“You knew what, sir?”

“What I said. That you are indeed as decent as you look, and a lot more decent than your partner out there, wearing all that real leather. Do people even think about things like that? Especially in a place like this. Do the people around you, Officer, even notice things like those very decent cop shoes of yours? Do they know why those shoes, which are very hard to find by the way, are as good as you and I know they are?”

Ben feels the room grow suddenly warmer. Is he blushing? Pleather cop shoes are a much more ethical and environmentally responsible choice than real leather ones, and around here they are also goddamned hard to find.

“You’re a good guy, choosing a decent pair of shoes like that, and a good cop, too.” 

Finn uncrosses his knees and leans forward in his chair to inspect the badge Ben wears proudly on his solid chest.

”Officer _Solo_ … well goodness, that sure is a very decent-sounding name for a very measured-sounding cop now, isn’t it? Why aren’t you sitting down, Officer Solo? Because I think I am very much ready to answer the rest of your questions.”

Ben frowns. The fact he’s still standing perplexes him as well since normally Ben has well and truly sat down by this point. In the only other chair in the interview room. So what’s he waiting for? Permission?

“Yes, Officer Solo,” Finn says. “You may sit down now.”

Ben sits. 

“Um,” he stammers, fumbling the words and the clipboard, but most of all the glasses because it seems as though they are intent on slipping right off the end of his nose now. “You are, um… of no fixed address?” - Ben looks up - “Is that correct, sir?”

“That is correct, Officer, yes. I am of no fixed address, and if I can save you the trouble it does also say there that I have no prior record known to the state of Pennsylvania and yes, that is also correct.”

Ben swallows.

“You’re very good, Officer Solo. I continue to be impressed by your ability to recite facts about me, I really do.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ben says. 

“You’re very welcome.”

“So, um… I think I also read here, sir, that you were seen with a thing you should not have been seen with, is that correct, too?”

“And what exactly would that be?”

“Well, that would be a machete hunting knife, sir. Which we have apparently taken from you.”

“Ah, no, Officer, with all due respect. If I may say so, that is false.”

“You may, sir, go right along ahead. I’m only going by the notes my partner has already made here but I am also listening to you. I really am.”

“Oh, I know that,” Finn says, through a smile he almost seems to bathe Ben in this time. “I know that you are listening very carefully to me now.”

As the interview has progressed, Ben’s taken to holding on to the clipboard with both hands. His glasses move less this way because he can hold the clipboard up much closer to the level of his eyes. Doesn’t need to look down so much. But now Ben lays the clipboard all the way down to his lap, not really sure why. It’s just something, for some reason, Ben’s feeling an urge to do. To let the notes go and just gaze across the room, unburdened. Into the eyes of the very pleasant-looking man who gave the name of _Finn._

“I am listening carefully... to every single word you say, sir."

“Every word?”

“Every one.”

“Lovely,” Finn says. “Then in that case, Officer, I think you meant to say _katana sword_. Because it was not a machete at all; it was a very particular, meticulously cared for and some might even say exquisitely crafted _katana sword_ that I was holding in the middle of that cemetery. And somehow your colleague has managed to miss that detail and has managed instead to write down something quite different. And so what I’m wondering is this, Officer Solo: do you know how he managed to miss that detail? Do you know how your partner managed to confuse a machete with a sword?”

“No, sir,” Ben answers. “I don’t know how he managed to do that.”

“It’s nice to agree about things. Isn’t it, Officer Solo?”

“Yes it is, sir.”

“Because you see, I am also unsure of how your partner managed to miss that, but I am very sure of why he did.”

“Oh, you are?”

“Yes,” Finn says. “And I think you might be very sure of that, too. Even though you seem to say you aren’t. And I’m certainly not calling you a liar, Officer Solo, because so far I have found you to be nothing short of truthful.”

“I’m very truthful, sir.”

“I know. You have so far given me no reason whatsoever to doubt that. So…”

Finn raises his eyebrows, and because they seem expectant Ben takes a very deep breath. Although he really has absolutely no idea of what he’s about to say with it.

“Um… well... I guess it could be that he needs glasses too, sir.”

Finn raises both hands and leans back in his chair and laughs. It’s an infectious sound and Ben finds himself smiling, and before long he is laughing along at his own suggestion, too. 

“I guess it could be that, yeah sure, why not?” Finn says, still chuckling and beaming at Ben, as he re-crosses his knees and runs his hands along the tops of his thighs, smoothing out small rumples in the fabric of his slacks. “You wear glasses, Officer. You wear some very fine glasses indeed, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Well, shucks,” Ben gushes, feeling the room grow warmer still, and dropping his eyes from Finn’s thighs for a moment. “You’re right... I do...”

“You wear glasses so that you can see clear as crystal.”

“I _do_ do that, sir. I really do...”

“And because you’re wearing them now,” Finn says, uncrossing his knees again and leaning forward in his chair, “You can see clear as crystal that was certainly not the reason why your partner did what he did.”

He gives Ben a stare so intense it seems to penetrate everything that makes his body warm and makes his heart beat. Finn seems to look now into the most secret and controlled parts of Ben’s very soul, right down deep into the dark. Where Ben keeps the bad and unmeasured urges he tries so hard every day to keep in check. Because Ben is still by now a good guy and that’s where all those urges still are, right down deep. And Ben is trying hard to keep them there. Trying very hard.

“No, you’re not,” Finn purrs. “You’re not trying hard to do that at all, Officer Solo. And you’re not good at all either, and you know that. You and I both know that very well. That beating heart you’ve got in there won’t hide the vengeance beneath it. The vengeance you crave. It won’t even hardly let you crave it.” 

Finn stands and begins a series of slow steps towards Ben, still sat like a good guy in his chair and with Hux’s clipboard of notes still resting untethered on his lap. Still rather mesmerised by Finn’s thighs, and everything else that’s still very pleasant about the way he looks. And as Finn gets closer, Ben fixates on the place where the very clean white shirt he wears disappears in a neat tuck inside the waistband of his slacks. Slacks that are still as blue as cornflowers. 

“Deep inside that soul of yours, beneath that beating heart there have always been urges, Officer Solo. And you want me to see them. And you don’t want to hide them from yourself anymore, either.” 

Finn reaches the chair and places practiced hands against the insides of Ben’s knees, coaxing them apart. The lame attempt Ben makes to clutch for the clipboard as it drops right off the edge of his lap is quickly forgotten as Finn works himself between Ben’s thighs. 

“Would you like to ask me any more questions, Officer?” 

“No, sir,” Ben answers, while his hand makes a nervous journey back towards the bridge of his glasses, but stops short, at his own damp cheek. He blinks in surprise at the tears on the tips of his fingers when he draws them away.

“In that case,” Finn says, “There are several questions I’d like to ask of you, if you don’t mind?”

Ben swallows and whispers, “No, sir… I don’t mind.”

Finn reaches for Ben’s glasses and slides them down his nose. He sends them off across the room and Ben is so intent on what Finn’s preparing next he hardly hears the lenses crack when the frames collide with something distant, and the broken pieces scuttle as they click and bounce across the epoxy finish of the floor. Finn’s other hand cups the underside of Ben’s jaw, raising his chin. And another tremor goes through him as Finn strokes along his exposed throat, the touch light against Ben’s skin, not heavy or hurtful. 

And Ben can’t imagine it’s leaving a scratch but inside, the way Finn touches Ben makes him feel sated. Inside of Ben there is an itch, and that’s the thing Finn's scratching now, the things. The urges. And Ben begins to realise that he likes this. He likes this very, very much. And so does somebody else. Somebody Ben’s got buried just as deep inside.

“Officer Solo?”

“Sir?”

“Do you want me to give you a little bit more permission? Like before?”

Finn’s hand leaves Ben’s throat and traces down a path that ends at his sternum. And Ben just gulps as Finn maintains the position of that hand while the urges inside him seem to swell before they surge, just before Finn starts to raise his hand again, stroking all the way back up towards Ben’s still-exposed throat.

“Um,” he gulps. “Well, how do you mean, sir?”

“Permission to unlock all this... all this that I know you know is all in here.”

“The… vengeance?” 

Ben can hardly whisper the word.

“Mostly,” Finn replies, in a voice that’s almost as quiet as Ben’s, to Ben’s relief, because he’s never ever talked to anyone about any of this before now, and that makes him nervous. “But you and I both know, Officer, that’s not all I’m talking about… don’t we.”

Finn strokes along Ben’s throat again.

“How would you like this to end, Officer Solo?”

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“If you could pick an ending, what would it be?”

“Um… I don’t know, sir.”

“Tell the truth.”

“Uh... well… if you ask me, this whole thing is gonna end badly, sir.”

“And do you like bad endings, Officer?”

“Well, I try not to-”

“That wasn’t my question now, was it?”

“No, sir.”

“So…?”

“No I don’t, sir," Ben answers. "No I don’t like bad endings at all.”

“But somebody else does, don’t they, Officer? Somebody else in here...”

Ben closes his eyes and Finn’s fingers rise from his throat and start to stroke along the line of Ben’s jaw, towards the pulse in his neck.

“Yes, sir,” Ben breathes. “But I would _never_ …”

He’s not entirely sure when it happens, because it was a while ago now that things began to get a little hazy, but Finn is no longer between Ben’s knees, although Ben can still hear him, speaking in the faintest of whispers. His voice is a rhythm that cantors along in a way Ben can’t ignore, it’s just so even and assured and measured. And Ben is still very measured too, at this point. He thinks.

“Isn’t it exhausting, though?” Finn’s asking him now. “Being so measured like that all the time? And always fighting _that_ … fighting that half of yourself… that half that wants so much to be _unmeasured_ …”

“Yes,” Ben hears himself saying, only vaguely aware of what he’s admitting to, but knowing that it feels so very right to do it. “Yes, sir... yes, sir, it is exhausting...”

“And wouldn’t you like to be free of that exhaustion forever, Officer Solo? Wouldn’t that kind of freedom… _release_ … be a relief?”

“Yes… yes, sir, it certainly would...”

Finn puts his mouth against Ben’s neck and inside that sinks a pair of fangs so fine they rival his clothes. And at first Ben hardly feels them puncture his skin, or slide so far beneath they enter the carotid artery wall on his right hand side. But all of a sudden there’s a terrible pain and Ben braces, mouth wide. Mind fully intent on crying out loud. 

Just soon enough though, Finn’s hand is there, and Ben can’t make a sound. As his terrified heart pounds away in his ears and the hand smothers his nose and he’s held, helpless, lungs screaming. Until quickly all that pain is like a shroud and a warmth so entire that it could be sleep begins to spread from where he and Finn’s bodies are locked. And then the hand moves away and Ben inhales. 

And as he does, Finn slides his index finger between Ben’s teeth and Ben bites down. And it’s all very pleasant after that as Ben sucks on what he finds there, at the end of it, while Finn recommences the work on his neck, and the fingers on the hand not feeding Ben new life begin to tease firm the nipple they’ve found beneath Ben’s uniform. 

But Ben doesn’t really notice any of this, for now it seems to be that this is just another one of his dreams, and he’ll wake up soon and pack all these urges away again like always. After all, they’re very unpacked now that Finn has adjusted his grip on Ben’s neck, and a trickle of blood has meandered down and between the perfect imperfections in his skin. He can track the path it takes by scent alone, but he can’t quite put words to what he craves now in response to it. Least not until Finn says, 

“Are you thirsty? Kylo Ren?”

* * *

To the bridge of his nose a long forefinger makes a customary trip and anchors there the ghost of glasses Ben Solo no longer needs. His shiny pleather cop shoes don’t move at all above the epoxy finish of the floor. But the leathered feet of his soon to be former partner still make the same light squeak as the web of Kylo’s hand holds Hux in place - by the throat - against the stippled stucco wall outside the interview room. 

It’s a sound that still bothers Officer Solo but it’s only Ren pulling Hux closer now. Only Kylo who parts his lips just beneath his first victim’s jaw and inhales through his open mouth the first traces of a flavour that’s making his tongue so wet it weeps in anticipation. A doorway inside him has opened to things that have always been there; unmeasured actions. And only the very darkest of urges.

Kylo bites down on the virgin neck of Officer Hux. And it’s clumsy at first as the terrified man bucks beneath his jaws, while Kylo’s new and inept fangs make mis-attempt after mis-attempt on the work. Vaguely he senses desperate hands, pushing his body away and then it’s done; the scrapes and the fuck-ups and the near misses all cease and Kylo sinks deep into warmth at last.

Greedily he drinks and the warmth overflows from his tongue and lips, running in rivers down his smooth chin. A hot font, the spend of which coats their upper torsos like water. Or maybe it’s more like milk because Kylo gulps it down like a cat does cream before it’s scolded, but only gently:

“Let him go now.”

The familiar purr in the voice of the man who gave the name of _Finn_ is soothing, and Kylo can’t help but open wider, re-gripping his victim as the things he and Finn did earlier, in the seclusion of the interview room, return to the fore of his mind. 

He’d let him inside like a lover, to the places he kept most measured, controlled and secret. And Finn had stroked those places like only someone who loved him for his deepest darkest urges ever could. Because Finn understood, and felt all those urges, too.

“I said, let him go.”

Strong hands enfold his upper arms now, but they don’t tear Kylo from his spoil. In the end, he’s ready for that on his own. Kylo lets Finn draw his body away as with one last squeak from his leather shoes, Officer Hux’s soles skid along the epoxy finish of the floor - slick by now from the mess - and Kylo's eyes travel from the dying remains to his own two hands, his own shirt cuffs. And then to the front of his uniform.

“Officer?”

Kylo’s eyes slide from his own blood-drenched body to Finn’s, and come to rest on his hands. And Kylo stares at what he sees held in those, so tenderly; the soft curves and the glinting edges of a weapon.

“Where’d you get that?” Kylo murmurs. “Wait a minute, did you…?”

“Yes,” Finn says, very clearly. “While you were… busy… I did go down to the evidence room and retrieve this katana sword. It is mine, after all... was that bad?”

“Well… no, not necessarily... I guess it depends on what you’re planning to do with it now... what are you planning to do with it now, if you don’t mind me asking?”

As slow as molasses in January, Finn turns the handle of the sword until the pommel faces Kylo.

“I am planning to give this to you,” he says, “After all, it is a very particular, meticulously cared for and some might even say exquisitely crafted thing of real beauty and I think this sword would suit a guy such as yourself. A guy who’s… well… would a guy like you like to hold it? Kylo?”

“It is a very nice sword,” Kylo says, still staring.

“And it is a very _bad_ one, too _.._. maybe you and I could even... share it?”

“Well, that would be... decent...”

“Maybe even be measured..."

"And _good.._."

"Sharing is good..."

* * *

Finn smiled and so did Kylo, but after that it wasn’t good at all, the way the rest of it happened. And, in fact, none of it had ever really been good until that point, Kylo knew. And from somewhere deep inside himself, beneath his stagnant heart, Officer Ben Solo knew that, too; after the massacre proper, Kylo felt peace. Even though he also knew that he was no longer good.

But it _was_ good to see him after that, across the quiet aftermath; the man who gave the name of _Finn_. And Kylo came to know something else then as he caught sight of Finn’s nose and mouth, smudged by blood which had dripped down his strong jaw and neck, and seeped in a sequence of deep ruby stains into his no longer very crisp clothes.

As he stared at his slacks, no longer blue, and his shirt, no longer clean - as his gaze took in the still salient crown of his now very mussed-up hair - Kylo knew then that Finn was by far and away the most pleasant-looking demon that either he or Ben had ever seen. And that if his heart could still pound away it would only do it for him. 

Outside the place where they first met - near the end of that one night in Centerville - Kylo slipped his hands around Finn’s waist and pulled their indecent hips together. And their mouths found each others and their tongues delved deep, and they nibbled and nipped and swallowed. They spilled each other’s blood and it soaked the ground as they made love atop the carnage.

Not all people crave bad things, like vengeance, that’s not a part of being human. And very rarely do people dream of killing everybody else still overpopulating the sidewalks of wasteful excuses for materialistic Midwestern towns, like the one in which this gory story has just been set. But that kind of thinking is completely normal and understandable for unmeasured souls, like Kylo and Finn.

Because it’s sure as fuck not easy staying good. It’s really not. 


End file.
